


destiny, but in ourselves

by withlightning



Series: ✨Kinkalot 2020 [9]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fairy Tale Style, Falling In Love, Kinkalot 2020, M/M, Magic, Synesthesia, main challenge #1: five senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25936207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withlightning/pseuds/withlightning
Summary: His magic choosing Arthur isn't something he has control over.(An unconventional fairytale in less than a thousand words.)
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: ✨Kinkalot 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861852
Comments: 13
Kudos: 103
Collections: Kinkalot 2020





	destiny, but in ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> Such a huge thank you to [Dwally](https://archiveofourown.org/users/datingwally) and [missjmelville](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missjmelville/pseuds/missjmelville) for guidance and support and listening to me whine and freak out, and at very last day to decide that, _oh, I don't want what I worked for for a week, I want something else!_ \-- and navigating me all the way to the end until I was happy with what I created. I'm blessed to have you.
> 
> This was story #6 in anonymous Kinkalot 2020 [Challenge 1: Five Senses](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Kinkalot_2020/works/25802005) master post. We have an incredibly talented group of creators involved in this challenge - please consider checking out the post, find new favorites and share some love!

Merlin always knew he was different from other children. With his dark hair and big eyes and bony shoulders, he could've been anyone in his village, but he never was. Inside him lived a swirling thing with soft curves and sharp hooks, a thing his mama told was scary for other people, that, "They're scared of it because they don't understand," and Merlin thought, _I don't understand it, either_. 

That thought remained true for years. Even when he learned to wield his magic in secret; behind buildings, in the depth of the forest, under the refreshing lake water. He was always careful, so very careful to hold onto it tight, to control it. His skin would ache and the softness inside would turn into fire, mercilessly licking his spine until his eyes wet, but he'd feel accomplished.  
  
Like it would be alright, one day.  
  


* * *

  
Leaving for Camelot isn't a choice. Ealdor is home but he grows discontent; a constant gnawing inside, restless and incapable of settling, like a pack of birds learning to fly, not possessing the skills to match their enthusiasm. 

The closer he gets to his destiny, the lighter he feels. By the end of the first day, he's breathing easier. The second brings him spring to his steps. In the middle of the third day, the spires of the castle on the horizon, a magnet in his chest starts to pull him to the town.

It's the beginning of _something_ when he's lying on the floor of the cell, shortly after meeting Arthur. Privileged and annoying as he is, he's making Merlin feel alive for the first time in his life. 

Voice of ancients is calling his name deep down, under the town, almost seductive, but louder still is his magic gone haywire, as if yelling, _him him him_ , his fingertips crackling with bolts he does his best to tame.  
  


* * *

  
His magic choosing Arthur isn't something he has control over. "Magic is older than time," Gaius tells him. "It is, it has been and it always will be, and it's not yours to hold."

Merlin's heard stories of people with magic finding their purpose. How it had hurt them, how they lost their senses; how smells choked them and sounds bruised their skin, how touch made blind.

To Merlin it's nothing like that; it's everything and more. His magic reaches out for Arthur, entwines its tendrils around him, jumping from Merlin's control to protect, adoring, and humming in contentment. It's expanding until it's bursting out through Merlin's skin, tingling and warm. It yearns for Arthur in ways Merlin tries his hardest to understand.  
  


* * *

  
It's only after his magic pours out of him in concentration, wrapping Arthur in its cocoon, filling every synapse, cell, and atom with its power, bringing Arthur back from the clutches of death and building him anew, layer by layer, that Merlin finally _knows_ Arthur.  
  
It's him and his magic, settling inside Arthur, becoming a fundamental part of him, souls and destinies entangled.  
  


* * *

  
Arthur's words start to take another form; they tickle Merlin's skin first, feather-light and gentle as if asking for permission to touch. He shivers and complies, and before long, hearing Arthur's voice feels like a multitude of touches around his body, enticing but safe. 

Arthur's scent fills Merlin's palate, all-consuming and delicious, and he finds himself starving, never getting his fill even when they're spending days and weeks together, just the two of them, roaming around the great lands of Arthur's – their – kingdom. 

Where he's always seen Arthur bright and righteous, with a shining aura of nobility, now grows such beacon-like warmth, a lighthouse only for Merlin, _his home_ , his starting point and his end.  
  


* * *

  
Merlin's magic finds its purpose in Arthur and the humming inside him turns into purring, like a pleased, sun-ray warmed kitten on its back, enjoying belly scratches.  
  


* * *

  
When they kiss, Merlin stops thinking for the first time in his life. The taste and feel of Arthur, the sounds he makes; Merlin overloads with everything and comes the moment Arthur's hand touches his neck, the prism of vivid colors underneath his eyelids blinding. Arthur holds him through his shaking, his body one with his magic one with Arthur, and Merlin kisses him again – just because he can, his mind blank and cock already hardening. 

Merlin tastes Arthur's scent; earthy and solid, heavy on his tongue, mouth-watering. He hears Arthur's words caressing his skin; his low, pleased rumble finger-walking along his spine, his laugh a palmprint on his chest. When he looks at Arthur, he sees Arthur golden and glowing, soft and pure. When he touches Arthur he barely bites down a shout, the jolt of _yesyesyes_ so strong it reverberates through his body. 

In his bed, after a fortnight, he travels back to that moment. To Arthur's arms around him and his mouth on Merlin's, wanting and wild, magic flowing between them like it was always Arthur's, to begin with. Wrapping a hand around himself, hard and tacky with precome, he strokes from root to tip and plays Arthur's voice in his head.  
  
It doesn't take him long to come.  
  


* * *

  
"You are different from everyone else I've ever met," Arthur says. Perhaps because he is. "You feel different, and – _right_." Because he is.  
  
Their magic purrs in Merlin, wraps itself around where Arthur is touching him, strong and perfect.

Merlin wonders if Arthur would believe how much magic is around and inside them, filling every dark corner of their room with beauty, sprawling soft and sharp and ethereal, and tangible if he'd just let himself _feel_.  
  
But Arthur is already halfway there, his hand hovering over Merlin's stomach, wondrous, their magic moving along his ghost of a touch.  
  
It will be alright, Merlin knows. He will be right by Arthur's side to guide him home. 

  
  
  
(He learns, later, that Arthur is made of magic – the very same magic Merlin was born with, the magic that loves Arthur and binds them together.)  
  
(And, finally, he understands.)


End file.
